Category: Laughs

If you buy your coffee at Starbucks, it can be confirmed that you either don’t like coffee, are confused about what coffee is, or are a rich, white middle school girl in mukluks and hipster glasses, trying desperately to impress your friends. You are also the punchline of copious coffee jokes exchanged among pretentious coffee snobs like myself, who lounge ostentatiously in local, independently owned coffee shops sipping broodingly at the espresso they ordered to prove what sophisticated, Italian taste they have, but who secretly guzzle milky, instant decaf almost religiously every night before bed. Recently, I had a somewhat traumatic flashback to a darker, hollower time in my life that predates my discovery of local coffee shops and the development of my taste for quality coffee. In this flashback, I bought coffee at Starbucks. Please forgive me as I try desperately to piece my shattered ego back together by making fun of Starbucks drinkers in this cathartic endeavor in modern coffee comedy.

Iced Skinny Flavored Latte: You buy all your clothes at the mall, live in California and have developed impeccable mathematical skills from years of adding and subtracting calories. You also have a Pomeranian, most likely named Victoria, after your favorite lingerie brand, who you tote around in your Gucci handbag while you traipse around the mall, wearing your sunglasses on top of your head and chewing your gum to the rhythm of your walking. I would warn you to take care not to overdraw your bank account, but the coffee spirits are telling me it’s inevitable.

Mocha: You are desperately trying to conceal the fact that you don’t like coffee so that you can still go on those chatty Starbucks dates with your group of girlfriends. Your best friend BFF is Iced Skinny Flavored Latte girl, who you’re actually far too intellectual to be hanging out with, but who is very popular among the freshman class of Godawful High School, therefore putting you under enormous pressure to feign your friendship. You are living a lie. However, one day, for better or for worse, you will find yourself sitting in your college dorm room in a university hoodie, questioning the meaning of your vapid existence. You will spiral into a vortex of self-doubt and discombobulation in which you will battle your inner demons and make a resolution to live life to the fullest from this point forward. You will start by dropping out of college and using the remainder of your allocated tuition money to travel the world with hopes that this spontaneous journey will inspire a poignant memoir about self-discovery and mindfulness. The memoir will eventually be downgraded to a blog with two followers, who may or may not consist of your mother and your therapist.

Starbucks Doubleshot +Protein: You may like coffee, you may not—whichever’s manlier. All you know for sure is that your girlfriend dragged you away from GTA for this and the inclusion of protein powder in this drink is just enough to keep your fragile male ego afloat for the duration of the date. There is a distinct possibility that in the very near future, your girlfriend will dump you for an unconventionally beautiful lesbian in an alt rock band, who will open her eyes to the world of independent coffee shops and the underground music scene. Also, your football team is going to lose the next game.

Starbucks Blonde Sparkling Americano: You ordered this drink in celebration of your new implants, which you got even despite the fact that you’re still thousands of dollars in debt from the hot pink mustang you bought last month. You’re not entirely sure what an Americano even is, you just ordered it because it’s blonde and sparkling, like you. Be wary of who you flirt with today. The cute college boy with the impeccably groomed facial hair taking your order may very well be irresistible, but his girlfriend is running the espresso machine and will most definitely not hesitate to hawk one in your drink if she sees you bat your false eyelashes at her guy one more time.

Pumpkin Spice Latte: You post photos of everything you eat on Instagram and have already finished garnishing your house up with nauseatingly adorable autumn themed decorations, even though it’s still August. Your room reeks of seasonal Yankee candles and the amount of selfies you take per day indicates that you are in dire need of an intervention. Your twin sister is a Macy’s manikin in the mall modeling this year’s latest fall fashion.

Coffee: You were dragged here by a group of unbearably peppy and gregarious coworkers who need absolutely anything except more caffeine. You will also be very disappointed to find that Starbucks does not serve this drink.

Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino: You really just wanted desert, but settled for this preposterous nonsense instead. Much like your relationships, you will enjoy your drink while it lasts, but will be left feeling curiously unfulfilled when it’s gone. You fiercely insist that the problem with your empty love life stems from your compulsive habit of denying yourself your true desires, but deep down, you know it’s because your heart is as cold as your Frappuccino. One day a strapping young latte drinker will come to your rescue and teach you how to love without inhibition. Shortly after melting your frigid heart, he will be killed tragically during an encounter with a rabid capybara.

Evolution Fresh Sweet Greens Smoothie: You speed-walked to Starbucks at nine in the morning with hot pink, 3 pound dumbbells in your hands, listening to ‘Roar’ by Katy Perry. You wear yoga pants almost religiously and have somehow duped yourself into believing that kale is good in smoothies. Your exercise is not a continuous life habit, but rather happens in sporadic bursts, motivated by the workout photos your friends post on Facebook as pathetic, passive aggressive attempts to assure everyone that they have their lives together. As you suck your green, sugary goo through your plastic Starbucks straw, you will come to realize that your friends lives are actually just as messy as your own, and you have no reason to feel obligated to exercise to avoid feeling inferior. This will not, however, stop you from posting your own exercise selfie online as soon as you get home.

I realize this is starting to get ridiculous (or at least, more so than when I began writing), so I’m ending this here, before it gets completely out of hand. Also, after proofreading this post, I’ve decided that I can’t put this on the internet in good conscience without noting that everything I’ve written is intended as a joke and nothing is meant to be hurtful. I know this is all pretty ludicrous and completely inaccurate. It’s not meant to be correct, it’s meant to be stupid. I am aware that parts of this post can be interpreted as alluding to or making light of eating disorders, emotional meltdowns, death or rabid capybaras. I take all of these things very seriously and understand that they are not laughing matters. However, I do, from time to time use them in my humor because I am an awful, sardonic bitch who doesn’t know how to make jokes in good taste. I’m not trying to offend anyone, but I understand if you are offended, and apologize in advance.

This is a post from an old blog of mine. I am including it on this blog because I’ve come to realize that all the posts on Carpe Animus are mawkish and weepy and I just think it’s time to lighten the mood.

Attention! The following is a rant. Please don’t hate me. I need to vent.

As a music loving, art appreciating, record collecting, creative writer, I’m constantly trying to further immerse myself in the local population of likeminded individuals, with whom I can collaborate, discuss fangirl about bands with and exchange ideas. Unfortunately, a small community of fedora wearing, pseudo intellectual egomaniacs with questionable facial hair exists within every otherwise enjoyable group of local likeminded individuals. We call this uniquely pretentious breed, the hipster.

I don’t know why they bother me so much. Maybe it’s because their record collections are always so much bigger than mine or maybe it’s because they, unlike me, can somehow afford to stock their wardrobes with the entire Urban Outfitters catalog. More likely though, it’s because they violate what I believe to be the fundamental roots of all art: freedom of expression and acceptance of all people. As soon as you turn art into a competition and establish misguided rules about what ‘real’ art or true authenticity is, you not only create a hostile, judgmental environment for aspiring artists, but you become a stuck-up, bona fide dickwad. This attitude kills creativity.

I’m also baffled as to where hipsters get the money to maintain their expensive ‘chic homeless’ fashion choices and collection of rare and special, $50+ records.

Call me jealous, but isn’t this just another form of materialism and superficiality? I’ve come to the bitter conclusion that there is no way to satisfy a hipster or to correct their behavior. I’ve tried to think of what kind of compliment hipsters would find gratifying and I just don’t know what they want to hear.

“Wow. You’re so much more of an individual than me.”

Is this what I am supposed to be saying? Is this the impression hipsters are so competitively pursuing? Somebody please explain what the object of the hipster culture is and how I can better understand it, because it is so exasperating to repeatedly meet people who, at first, seem to share a lot in common with you, just to find out later that despite their exquisite taste in music and knack for spoken poetry, they’re really just a pretentious, over-privileged prick.